


Palest Flush

by LegendTrainer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Complete, F/M, Moirails, Moirallegiance, One Shot, Quadrant Vacillation, old fic I found among my files, palemates, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendTrainer/pseuds/LegendTrainer
Summary: You'd ruined it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work I found a copy of on a who-knows-how-old flashdrive. I fixed it up a bit, broke up the paragraphs which were terribly long into manageable chunks, and posted it.

There you were, in the Land of Little Cubes and Tea, with the sugar-ground glinting and sticking to the soles of your boots and the pinkish teapots casting their shadows in the evening. Nepeta had coerced you into having a tea party with her, and a tiny table was set up at the apex of a hill. When you had reached its summit, you realized that it dropped off, at a steep angle, straight to a sea made of something that smelled distinctly similar to Earl Grey tea, light splayed across its milky, undulating surface. When a wave crested, a striking rubescent band broke the pale surroundings. You let a small smile creep onto your face while you absorbed the sight. Then, hearing the distinct crunch of disintegrating cubes coming from behind you, you turned your head to see Nepeta bounding up the hill, her steps the long, eloquent strides of a practiced huntress.

She had pleasedly changed from the ragged olive trench coat and worn out ensemble, and into the short white dress you’d given her, its silk and lace billowing behind her lithe form. The two bands of your two blood colours that accentuated her small waist made your blood-pusher twist and wrench. Of course you couldn’t have her in such stunning finery and have yourself in your regular fare, so you had changed into your favorite suit. It wasn’t one that was of current trends, but of a far-gone time, with pointed long tails at the back and silvern fasteners connected with a blue, white, and olive silk rope. It had taken you to quite a while to convince Kanaya that, yes, this is indeed what you wanted her to sew.

She stood pointedly next to you, her spine a elegant, deadly arch and her face thickly painted with a perfect contentment. Her short-cut ebony hair streamed out from the lightly scented winds that grazed over the sea and she took your overshadowing hand in her miniature one and lead you to the table.

You could see a slice of mosaic from underneath the lace table runner and the silver platter that held the rest of the tea set. Surprisingly, the set was a matching silver, and not the pink-tinted porcelain with stylized black cats that you expected, but as you drew closer, you could see detailed engraving of wild felines bounding across its width. There were multiple tiny silver platters with filigree detailing around their edges, several contained neatly piled cookies and pastries, another a selection of lemon and citrus slices and the last, unsurprisingly, a pyramid of perfectly wrought sugar cubes. A tiny jug contained what you assumed to be milk and a glass jug held boiling water. She pulled out your chair as you lifted out hers and you sat down at the wrought-iron table.

Two tiny cups were laid on equally tiny saucers and you watched as she lifted the teapot and poured it to about three-fourths full before asking you the customary “Milk, Sugar or lemon?” as you had taught her was proper, to which you replied, “Milk, Please.”.

You were quite pleased to see that it was indeed lusus milk, and that she had remembered (why would you have even though otherwise in the first place). You stirred it with the tiny-handled teaspoon which was discretely different from Nepeta’s in several different ways, the cup and spoon being slightly divergent in design and the metal was slightly shinier, shinier than the entire tea set. Odd, you though, as you peered at the spoon and you attempted to bend it, but it didn’t crack. It was made of titanium.You smiled, she thought of everything, didn’t she.

You stirred the tea and watched as her surprisingly dainty fingers half-unfolded a napkin and laid it in her lap, she then took the tiny tongs and placed several sugar cubes in her tea without spilling a drop, then stirred it without even clinking against the mug. You figured that she was putting effort into seamlessly blending each eloquent movement, but when you peered up to look at her face, she was staring off out into the distance, towards the ocean made of tea, her eyes lightly glazed.

You felt the familiar prickling of sweat at the back of your neck. She seemed to snap out of it when she realized that you were looking and she smiled at you with her entire face, her eyes shutting into happy curves, creases gathering at their corners and her mouth a slice of happiness and huntress’ deadly canines. Your blood-pusher did a heavy-footed jig in your chest, kicking your ribs with thundering jolts.

You sipped the tea, still being cautious with your hold despite the substance the cup was hewn from. Surprisingly it was a rare white tea with a floral, fruity taste and a wafting vegetive scent that strangely wasn’t cloying. You decided that it was a good choice with the flaky pastries and jam-filled cookies. And then you mistakenly and simultaneously fell and looked up at your palemate.

The wisps of her hair framed her heart-shaped face that had not yet shed all of its wiggler-fat, her high cheek bones were dusted with flush and the ends of her lips were inclined into an almost bow-like arc due to the remnants of the hare’s lip you had fixed the instant you had taken you into your pale quadrant. Rings of stately peridot were overcoming the orange-y topaz and blending into a bright chartreuse colour in the interval rings. Her elegantly upturned nose inhaled deeply and she then began using her willowy fingers to pick apart the crumbling layers of the flaky, fruit-filled phylo pastry and then popping the paper-thin sheets on her tongue, letting them dissolve.

You jolted your vision away from her and towards the sticky crystalline ground, brimming with a semi-disgusted embarrassment. You rubbed some of the damp sugar grains off the side and laces of your polished black shoes and watched as the light dimmed the surroundings, the sugar crystals refracting minuscule light beams every which way.

Out of the corner of your shielded eyes, you could see the concave dips in her face become shaded with silky darkening tones, and you felt a heavy pulse in your heart and another in a place that definitely wasn’t. You bit your own lip hard enough for a rivulet of striking blue to drip, though you managed to catch it, hoping desperately that the blue splotch and your sweaty collar wouldn’t show on the inky grey of the suit.

You felt a light, warm grip on your hand, and you peered ashamedly up to see Nepeta leaning over the table, careful of what was laying on it, and placing both or her tiny hands on the one you had laid palm down and smiling in a concerned fashion, an almost sad smile.

“Equius? Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not Nepeta.”

“Are you completely sure? The sugar cubes might not make fur that good of a pile but I’m sure it would be alright!”

She tips her head to the side in a deeply endearing manner and you swallowed a hefty lump high in your throat.

“Yes, of course Nepeta. I am completely fine.”

She then smiles, letting you see a large slice of lethal canine teeth curved in a hearty grin.

“Alright then!”

You peered away, as if embarrassed at your lying to her and yourself. Of course there was something wrong! You’d been in a stable moirallegiance with her for many, many sweeps and you knew that this, whatever this was, these little spikes of something intensely red prodding through the pale froth that you were accustomed to having surround every thought in your head that dealt with her weren’t anything remotely pale in origin, and it made you disgusted with yourself.

After all of the time that you had spent with her, you had seen all of the bad things about her, but of course, you had also seen all of the powerful good in her as well. You had been the person who had helped the good things come into fruition and the vanquish all of the distasteful, low-blooded elements of her personality. Of course, she had seen all of the bad and good in you as well. All of the horrid things that she’d seen you do, the frustrated moments, and the first time you’d met her in real in real life and you’d nearly snapped her spine by accident. How did those rate up against any good qualities that you might possess?

For all of your built-up blue-blooded distinction, the hemocaste didn’t matter to her in the least. It didn’t tip any scales or make her see you in any higher regard than she would have if you were a burgundy-blood, or- gog forbid- a mutant. You supposed - no, you _knew_  - that that made her a great moirail. Yet, here you were, unable to divulge the image of the sunset painted curves and hollows in her face from your brain. Disgraceful.


End file.
